


what's in a name

by bstarship



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evil Tony Stark, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Marvel Universe, Multiverse, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Villain Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-02-29 09:19:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18775369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: In which Peter has an internship at Stark Industries,and Spider-Man fights an unknown bad guy in a metal suit.





	1. peter meets the metal man

**Author's Note:**

> tony pls he's just a kid
> 
> oh fun fact. this is kinda a multiverse thing. peter is still spider-man though. obviously

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter meets his idol,
> 
> and Spider-Man meets a metal guy with not-so-good intentions.

“Whoa, whoa,  _whoa,_  Karen! What was that?”

“I’m not sure, Peter,” she said. “Whatever it is has hindered my sensors. If you get a closer look, be careful. It is a lot faster than you.”

Peter leapt and swung to the next building, and then onto the next. The avenue below was bustling with rush hour traffic, so he had to be careful not to lose focus. His arms ached from the constant change in motion and force, and the number of times Peter had to duck or dodge blasts was now a bit too excessive.

“ _Geez,_ I’m tired,” he huffed, slapping against a building–– kind of like a bug on a windshield. The glass splintered beneath his touch. “Can you give me any readings?” he asked and watched the thing fly by in an orange haze. A booming resonance followed.

For a second, there was silence, and Peter almost thought the flying anomaly had gone. But, like any typical battle, he stand corrected. The thing, the  _robot_ , had flown up and startled Peter. The two were now face-to-face, and he could finally get a good look at what the thing was. Metal.  _So_  cool.

“Whoa, dude,” said Peter. “Did you know your eyes glow?” Before he could get a reaction, he webbed the suit’s torso and threw the metal man against the building. Some glass shattered, but that wasn’t Peter’s goal. All he needed to do was stick the thing there for the time being as he bought himself some time.

He swung between skyscrapers and down the numbered streets, adrenaline coursing through his veins while the metal man was hot on his tail. Peter figured the webbing would only hold him for so long. All he needed to do was get them away from midtown.

But the metal man was  _much_ faster than Peter. They sidled up to his left, catching his eye briefly before they raised their hand towards the string of webbing that Peter had a grip on. Then there was a blast.

“Wh––  _no, no, no, no!_ ” the kid yelped as he plummeted down through the awning of a flower shop. The impact sizzled, sharp pains like hot coals up and down his limbs, but he was quick to sit up.

Despite the crowd that started to form, the metal man was quicker. They slammed down onto the concrete, cracking the hard surface before taking two long steps toward Peter.

“If it isn’t the Spider-Man,” the metal guy said.

Peter had to admit: the voice wasn’t as daunting as the outerwear.

He stood reluctantly, lowering his tone as he said, “if it isn’t the–– the...”

“Iron Man.”

“ _Right_... “ Peter crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes to hopefully seem a bit more intimidating. The wince of pain, however, detracted from the tactic. “Is that–– is that even iron? Looks like a gold-titanium alloy.”

The metal guy––Iron Man––didn’t react. “Stay  _away_. You don’t want to get involved with any of my messes. All right?” His voice had a familiar ring to it; it felt more condescending and passive as opposed to dark and gruff. This voice wasn’t the type of voice to give Peter nightmares.

The man took Peter’s silence as an answer.

“Ay, ay, ay,” said Peter, holding up his hands. “Not all right. What messes?”

“It’s for the greater good.” Iron Man’s repulsors ignited. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Peter stumbled back due to the push of the takeoff. Before he could think of a witty response, the metal man had flown off, leaving behind more confusion than what Peter started with.

-

He spent the next morning researching–– and, of course, cradling a busted shoulder that would soon heal by the afternoon. But the injury was the least of his problems. A man of iron (gold titanium alloy, but the metal man refused to admit it) had done enough disturbance to cause alarm, but Peter wasn’t sure exactly  _what_  this man was up to. All Peter knew was that Spider-Man was the good guy, and Iron Man didn’t like Spider-Man. That automatically made him a bad guy, right?

“So, what you’re saying is, there’s a flying metal dude wreaking havoc over the city who can probably break the sound barrier if he tried?  _And_ , his eyes glow?” asked Ned.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“Sounds evil.”

Peter huffed. “ _Right?!_ ”

Ned’s chuckle crackled through the phone. “Did he blast you or anything?”

“No, he hit my webbing though,” replied Peter, tucking his  _very_  shattered phone between his shoulder and his ear. Meanwhile, he shoved the last stack of envelopes in his cart before exiting the mailroom. “He was just–– “ Peter sighed as he pressed the ‘up’ button on the elevator. “He just gave me bad vibes, man. I mean, he  _knew_  me. He told me not to get involved.”

“He knew you?” Ned questioned. “As in, he knows you’re Peter?”

“No,” said Peter. The elevator doors opened, and he backed up into the empty space with the mail cart. “He knows about Spider-Man.” Peter pressed the button for the 38th floor. “Why would a good guy not want Spider-Man to get involved?”

“Maybe he just wants all of the credit?”

Peter shrugged. “I-I guess. I still don’t even know what this iron guy–– “

“Iron Man.”

“–– _Iron Man_  is doing. I mean, it’s totally possible I–– “ But before Peter could continue, the elevator stopped on the lobby floor. “Shit, gotta go,” he sputtered, placing his phone in the pocket of his pants just as the doors opened.

And when they did, Peter’s heart nearly stopped.

The other man smiled at the kid, notably enough that it would give Peter the chance to tell everyone that  _the_ Tony Stark  _smiled_  at him. All the while, aside from his excitement, Peter mentally scolded himself for taking up so much room in the elevator.

Tony looked tired despite the sunglasses covering his eyes. Nevertheless, he stood tall, hands clasped together while the floors increased in value. Small indicating beeps penetrated the thick silence between Tony and Peter, and it was an awkward silence at that.

Suddenly, Tony took a glance down at the contents in the cart.

“Got anything good for me, kid?” he asked and reached a bruised hand over towards the thick piles. His fingers shuffled through the off-white paper while Peter struggled to think anything coherent. And then, Tony’s movements came to a halt. He examined one of the envelopes intensely before shoving it back into the metal cart.

The elevator reached the 38th floor at that exact moment.

“See ya, kid,” said Tony as he left without glancing back.

Peter blinked and then once more. With a smile, he quipped back a small, “see ya, Mister Stark” and made his way out of the elevator behind him.

-

Peter was normally one of the first to leave. The internship he had somehow been blessed with took up a good portion of his day, which meant it also took up a good portion of his summer. Then again, if it wasn’t for Spider-Man, Peter would be remodeling Aunt May’s old Honeywell vacuum from 2004. And possibly her faulty Keurig as well. Spider-Man gave him the chance to have a lot more to look forward to aside from tinkering. It was the chance to experience adrenaline–– a chance to show that he had the capability to do good things.

Although Peter was normally one of the first to leave, today he fell behind.

He had his share of wacky jobs while interning at Stark Industries. The summer was nearly a quarter through, yet he had already been sent out on multiple vacuous tasks–– and yes, that included the four coffee runs in a day. He knew all of the baristas at Starbucks by first  _and_  last name. But, of all of the wacky jobs, today’s task was the least wacky of them all. Truth be told, it was right in his ballpark.

Peter had to fix the scanner in the printer.

But Peter was Peter, and Peter did what Peter does best: mess everything up.

The majority of the floor had packed up and gone home, leaving him alone with a couple of tools and a sweater full of jet-black ink. The instructions were simple enough. All he had to do was redirect a few misplaced parts, but his eye for tinkering had other ideas, and he spent the next hour figuring out how to scan in higher quality. That, of course, resulted in a  _bit_  of catastrophe. And he couldn’t leave it at that.

“I think the ink is supposed t’go in the printer, kid,” said a man from behind. A certain Forbes man with a billion-dollar company and a boyish-like charm when in a good mood. A certain man that Peter always dreamed to meet––  _again._

Peter’s face flushed, and he could barely hear Tony’s steady heartbeat over his own erratic one. “Um,” he mumbled, peering over his shoulder to look at the man leaning on the doorway. “Yeah. It is.”

“Shame,” said Tony. “It was such nice cashmere too.”

The ink had soaked through to the collared shirt below, but Peter would spare Tony of the details. In fact, Peter wasn’t sure he could muster up enough strength to speak again. This was a moment he had wanted for years. And now he was having it covered in printer ink.

“Don’t waste your time on that shitty old thing,” Tony continued. “I’ll just replace it. And I’ll fire the dickhead who asked you to fix it.”

“N-no, it’s okay,” Peter sputtered, his eyes wide as he attempted to mask the perspiration building. “I already kinda fixed it. Jus’ wanted to see if I could make it better.”

Something in Tony’s face twitched–– Peter couldn’t quite place it. There was even a smirk, maybe a twinkle in the older man’s eye. But maybe Peter was just being hopeful. After all, he had played similar scenarios in his head too many times to count, and he always imagined impressing Tony in one way or another. They were just daydreams, though; they couldn’t come true; right?

“How so?” Tony folded his arms.

Peter pressed his lips together. “I–– um, well,” he muttered, “the mirrors were a lil’ wonky, so I fixed those. And, uh, I fumbled a bit with the CCD so the charge can be measured more accurately. Um–– yeah, that way when it’s converted to binary, it can be interpreted with more pixels in a higher quality. I guess. Yeah.” He took a shaky breath and avoided Tony’s gaze.

Yet when Peter did look over, Tony’s smirk had grown in size. He was impressed.  _He was impressed_. Peter weakly smiled in return.

After a moment, Tony relaxed and backed up a few steps. “Get some rest, kid. Like I said, shitty printer. Shitty scanner.”

“I almost got it, though, Mister St–– “

Tony held his hand up. “Boss’s word. G’night.”

Peter stared out into the dark room for a few minutes, the disbelief persistent despite Tony having left. The interaction was everything he had wanted and more. The elevator had sufficed, but this meant the world to Peter. A smile never left his face for the rest of the night.

The next morning, a new cashmere sweater had found its way into his mail cart with a small paper initialed  _TS_.

-

“Good evening, Peter.”

“Sup, Karen.”

“Where will you be taking me tonight?”

Peter hummed and stood from his crouched position. “I was thinking about a nice swing around the city. Can’t be out too late. May and I are gonna get ice cream later.”

“That sounds like a great idea, Peter,” said the AI. “Would you like me to resume your  _Kick Names, Take Ass_  playlist?”

“Is that even a question?” he asked, leaping down onto a loose rock roof. “Duh.”

“Sure thing.”

Peter stood for a second and waited for the music to play, but it never came. “Earth to Karen? Where’s my  _Warbly Jets_? I gotta feel the groove.”

“Sorry, Peter,” said Karen. “But I s-seem to be experiencing a few–– a few malfunctions. Is–– something–– can I––?”

“Karen?”

A bright orange light tore Peter’s attention away from the crackling voice of his AI, and the familiar booming resonance followed the stream as it made its way towards Manhattan. That was certainly cause for concern. He continued to watch the light grow smaller through the dark night.

“Was that Iron Man?” asked Peter as he flung towards a taller building and climbed up to get a better view.

“Yes,” said Karen, “and he knows you’re here. Are you going to follow?”

Peter shrugged. “Why not?”

“Setting a fast course to Manhattan.”

“Oh, and Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?” she asked.

“It’s time to feel the groove,” said Peter.

“Resuming  _Kick Names, Take Ass_.”

-

Peter had followed the glow into lower Manhattan, but he lost it near Washington Square Park. Nevertheless, he didn’t give up the search despite Karen’s lack of information. He swung through Greenwich up to Chelsea and back through Koreatown, eventually stopping to say hi to a few people up on the Empire State Building. He took a picture or two, but an alert kept him from continuing the little press tour.

“There’s a break-in at Stark Industries, Peter,” said Karen. “I believe it might be the Iron Man you were looking for.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Yes!” he exclaimed. “Oh, this is so exciting. I-I mean, bad. Like, it’s really bad.” A few strangers on the observation deck eyed him. “Uh–– uh, have a great night, folks,” he said, saluting them. “Stay out of trouble.” And then, he leapt over the fencing and dove towards the street below.

Stark Tower wasn’t too far from the Empire State Building–– it was also easy to see from a far distance. The big lettering on the side certainly made it hard to miss.

“Scan the premises,” he said to Karen, and immediately an x-rayed view of the building clogged his vision. There were a few figures located on scattered floors, most likely janitors or security guards, but a harsh, paunchy figure on the 38th floor caught his eye first. “Okay, how do I get in there?”

“There is an open window on the 21st floor,” Karen replied. “There is one security guard on that floor. Be careful, Peter.”

Naturally, it was simple to sneak in. Peter prided himself in his agility and stealth, and as confident as he felt, he was also nervous. If this metal man had the technology to tamper with his artificial intelligence, then he certainly had more technology than Peter bargained for. Breaking into Stark Industries was a clear sign that the titanium guy had bad ideas.

The 38th floor was dark and quiet, similar to how it was left the other day when Peter was covered in printer ink. But the silence wasn’t  _good_ , and Karen was no longer available. Once again, Iron Man knew Peter was here.

“I know you’re like, big and tough n’ all, but c’mon man,” said Peter into the pitch-black space. “Breaking into a billion-dollar company? You’re toast once the cops find out.”

No response.

Peter continued. Naturally, of course, because talking was what he did best. “Kinda stupid if you ask me. That suit’s cool though. Functionality is off the charts. Like, if you get shot, the bullet’ll probably bounce right off. Like, you know in those cartoons–– “

A large blast struck an exit sign above Peter’s head, and a few sparks flew as the white plastic dropped down to the tile below.

“Oh,  _cool_ ,” he whispered in awe. “Are we done playin’ hide and seek now? I have leftover empanadas waiting at home. I haven’t figured out what to have em with yet, but I was thinkin’ of just using minute rice.”

The soft whirring of moving mechanical parts echoed into the night, and Peter’s adrenaline spiked. The blue glow of the eyes and chest piece followed. This was so  _awesome_. Peter knew what was coming next as the man lifted his arm, and the small circle on his hand began to glow as the charge of the blaster whined.

“ _Shit_ ,” said Peter, meanwhile dodging the blast by slamming back against the secretary desk. “Okay, you’re right. No minute rice then.”

“Thought I said to stay away,” responded the man in the suit as he prepped another blast.

Peter rolled onto the floor behind the desk to avoid the second hit, and quickly, he jumped onto the opposite wall and launched a string of web towards the man’s neck. With a tug, Peter was able to toss the hot hunk of metal against the desk. It did minimal damage of course.

“Dude, you gotta tell me how those blasters work,” Peter said before slinging more webbing to limbs he could barely see in the dark. He was trying his best, but his best wasn’t good enough for the photon-blasting man in red (and gold). The web formula was certainly no match for whatever technology powered the suit. Peter assumed it was the glow-y thing middle.

He didn’t have a long chance to think over his next plan, however. After crawling onto the ceiling to get a better shot, Peter had made himself an open target for the now de-webbed Iron Man. So, of course, Peter was sent free-falling down onto the tile, and a mess of rubble from the ceiling came crumbling with him. A sharp pain trickled up his back. When he blinked to shake off the impact, Iron Man’s blue eyes were staring down at him.

“Nice job, Spider-Man,” the metal man taunted, sarcasm lacing his silvery tone. “You got me  _real_  good. Do yourself a favor and do what I tell you.”

“Not a–– “ Peter coughed and brushed concrete from his chest. “Not a chance.”

Iron Man cocked his head, and the soft shrill of the suit moving once again echoed. “This isn’t your business.”

“And breaking into Stark Industries is yours?” asked Peter as he scrambled to stand up–– and as far away from Iron Man as possible.

“Who said I was breaking in?”

“I-I did.”

Iron Man laughed. “Your AI system is weak.”

Peter pressed himself against the wall near the elevator. He hadn’t planned his escape from the situation, nor did he think taking the elevator was the best possibility.

“I gotta admit,” the man continued, “you’ve impressed me. You’re a good man, Super Spider. But I’m better.”

Peter frowned. “You’re just cocky.”

“Uh, I think the word you’re looking for is confident,” Iron Man replied and held up his pointer finger. “And... I think it’s time for you to leave.”

“You can’t tell me what–– “

Iron Man raised his hand, but this time, Peter was faster. He slid beneath the man’s wide stance and webbed the neck once more, this time thrusting himself at the suit feet-first to kick it against the elevator doors. Peter shot a dozen web grenades as he pushed down the panic crawling up his chest. He knew his webbing was too weak for Iron Man, but it would hopefully hold him in time for Peter to find whatever the man was looking for.

For the next few moments, as Peter wandered the wide halls and past offices he knew all too well, there was no danger. It was a peaceful few moments.

“I thought we were done playing hide n’ seek,” called Iron Man from down the hall.

Peter sucked in a sharp breath and clung to the wall. It was dark; surely, he wouldn’t be found. Except, it was the opposite. He lunged toward an open office door to dodge a blast, but the blasts kept coming. And Peter was out of breath.

If he could get enough momentum, he was confident he could break through the large window behind the desk. The city was very much alive from down below, and Peter–– well, he was trying not to freak out over how high the fall would be.

Iron Man raised his arm again. The two were face-to-face, give or take a few inches of height, with only a desk in between them.

“Give up yet?” the man questioned over the sound of his charging repulsor.

 _That was a much better name than blaster,_ thought Peter _. Blaster is too_ Star Wars _-y._

Peter shook his head. “Why should I? If you were actually doing something for the greater good, you would at least tell me what it  _is_.”

“Hm.” Iron Man glanced down and thought for a moment. “Nope.”

The blast hit Peter, and through the window he fell. 


	2. tony can’t fight spider-man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony has an idea,
> 
> and Iron Man shows his vulnerable side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just filler. just bonding. relationship building and all that crap.

Tony didn’t like Spider-Man, and that was that.

Well, truly, it wasn’t that.

Tony didn’t like Spider-Man getting in his way. He admired the man, honestly. Whatever powers Spider-Man had acquired, he knew how to use them. And, not only that, but he was also incredibly smart, too. It was what went unmentioned that struck Tony–– the strength of the webbing, the animation of the suit (he had to be honest, he nearly broke character a few times when the Spiderling’s eyes widened in surprise–– it was almost comical), even the artificial intelligence that Tony just so happened to love hacking. But who said  _hack_  anymore? Spider-Man was good, yet Iron Man was stronger in every way.

Truth be told, Tony didn’t mind Spider-Man, but  _god_  he could be so annoying. It didn’t come as much of a shock to Tony when Underoos did exactly what Underoos always did best. Talk his ear off. Spider-Man talked about the absolute most mundane things when all Tony wanted to do was go home and wallow in self-pity and guilt. But maybe that was why he didn’t mind the arachnid–– the distraction made him forget about all of his mistakes for a brief moment.

The night was thick with humidity––95% to be exact, with a barometric pressure of 30.01 Hg, and JARVIS had mentioned there were scattered storms in the area. Even so, the distant rumbling of thunder didn’t deter Tony’s somber evening in a neighborhood park all by himself. The swings creaked and the chain basketball nets rustled in the wind, and Tony, well, he looked and felt pathetic.

He struggled to let go of the past without completely forgetting it. The pain only prevailed even as the years slipped away. It seemed as though everything was cyclical, and every memory was like a restart button. And Tony’s hand was hovering over it.

“If you’re tryna replicate an angsty rom-com by sitting alone in the rain,” called a voice from somewhere behind him, “ya might wanna do it without the suit. It’s kinda throwin’ off the vibe.”

Tony’s mask shut in place, and the minor panic that had spiked dwindled immediately with his identity. He didn’t turn to face the perpetrator of the familiar strident, yet somehow small, voice simply because he just wasn’t in the  _mood_. He hardly felt like messing with the artificial intelligence too, which, according to JARVIS, was named Karen.

“’s probably not safe t’be in a metal suit during a thunderstorm.”

“Titanium has an electrical conductivity of 3.1 percent,” Tony grumbled lowly to himself.

The sprite Spider had leaped out in front of the bench. “Ha! So, I was right about the titanium?”

A crack of thunder traveled up Tony’s spine as he looked at the lanky figure before him. He could feel the boisterous energy bubbling within the man; it radiated off of him like damn gamma rays, but Tony couldn’t reciprocate. He  _never_  could. He was exhausted.

The silence settled, but only for a second.

“You’re not afraid to kill,” said the spider. His tone had softened. “That’s what you’ve been doing, yeah? Killing anyone who wrongs you? Anyone who gets in your way?”

“ _You’re_  in my way,” replied Tony, but his voice wavered. He did not want this right now. The rain had already begun to fall.

Spider-Man’s eyes widened slightly. “Then–– then why haven’t you killed me?”

Tony wasn’t quite sure how to answer. It was obvious; Spider-Man wasn’t after his work. Spider-Man was just doing his job. Spider-Man had no reason to die. Spider-Man wasn’t replicating Tony’s technology or using it against him. Spider-Man was just trying his  _best_.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Tony said calmly.

The sounds of rain pelting against the painted pavement filled the awkward space. Tony swore it was the longest the spider had ever been quiet around him, but as expected, it didn’t last long. Spider-Man took a seat beside the Iron Man suit.

“You’ve a very distinct heat signature,” the man said. There was a familiar ring to his voice that Tony couldn’t place. “You’re kinda easy to find.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Well–– it just  _kinda_  seems like you want me to find you.” Spider-Man turned his body towards Tony. “Maybe you don’t wanna kill me because you actually  _like_  me.”

Tony snorted. “Y’might get in my business, but you’re not  _messing_  with my business.”

“Why’re you out here in the rain?” asked the spider. “And in Queens?”

Tony didn’t answer.

“I feel soggy,” Spider-Man continued. “Don’t you feel–– wait, you’re literally a metal suit. Are you a robot, or a man in a suit? Because even now, I’m not sure. Normally I can hear heartbeats if I focus hard enough, but I can’t–– “

“You can hear heartbeats?”

Spider-Man nodded. The glow of Iron Man’s eyes reflected in the droplets on the red spandex. “Awesome, right? I can hear things that people can’t, and I sense a lot of things before they happen. And I got these really cool reflexes! They took me a while t’get used to, but they really come in handy when Flash––uh I mean––when someone throws something at me. Like, when I was younger and before these cool powers, my Uncle Ben used t’take me roller-skating on the weekends. One time someone threw a chicken nugget at me when I was skatin’, and I fell and broke my nose. There was blood everywhere. But now, I could probably catch that chicken nugget before even seeing it. I call it my Spidey-sense. Hey, wait, why aren’t you attacking me right now?”

Tony wanted to laugh, but he shrugged instead. Meanwhile, the rain lightened, and the thunder died off. “Don’t feel like it,” he said, gazing forward beyond the basketball hoops across from them. He could still feel Spider-Man’s eyes on him.

Someone was shouting in the distance, and even when Tony glanced towards the source, Spider-Man’s focus never changed.

“You want honesty, Underoos?”

“Under...? Under-what?”

Tony ignored him as he stood. He straightened his palms so they were parallel to the ground. “I don’t cope well with loss, all right? Now  _stop_  looking for me.” A second later, Tony took off into the sky.

-

“Hey, uh, Mister Stark? You wanted to see me?”

“You can sit down, kid,” said Tony. “This ain’t a student-teacher conference.”

Tony watched the young kid shuffle into the room, hands shoved deep into the sleeves of his sweater as his shoulders slumped. His anxious and innocent eyes traveled across every square inch of the expansive office. Of course, he could hardly glance Tony’s way.

Once the kid situated himself in a chair, Tony began his prepped spiel.

“Peter Parker, is it?” He knew the kid’s name, he just wanted to start off with a question.

Peter nodded.

“So, you’ve been with us for a month or two,” said Tony, “learned a few ropes and all that. I see a lot–– _hey, you can relax kid, ease up_ ––anyways, I see a lot of potential in you. Maybe you wowed me or something–– not many people  _do_  that, and I think you’d make a great asset to the team here at Stark Industries.” Tony twirled a pen between his fingers as he spoke. “But, of course, as amazing as you may be, there are many others who are just as amazing. So, Mister Parker, I wanna know what makes you special. Tell me about yourself.”

Panic struck Peter like a freight train, and it was obvious in every little twitch of his expression. Tony, however, didn’t worry for the kid. He didn’t worry because no amount of background information would sway the decision. Tony needed Peter.

“Uh, uh, I-I––” Peter coughed. “I’m, uh, sixteen, and I live w-with my Aunt May in Queens. I go to Midtown––“

“No, no, kid,” mumbled Tony. “I already know all of this stuff. You’re in Academic Decathlon, you’ve a 4.0 GPA and A’s in all of your classes. Believe me, I do my research. But what makes you  _special?_ ”

Peter swallowed thickly. “With all due respect, s-sir, I don’t think I’m special.”

Tony raised a brow.

“I got this internship by–– by chance, I mean––” Peter’s nervous ticks were increasing by the second. First, it was his fingers rapping against his knee, then the consistent blinking, and  _then_  the bouncing legs. “I had a really great semester, and my recommendation letters were  _too_  nice, and–– “

“You’re being modest, Mister Parker.”

Peter nodded. “Y-yeah.”

Tony sighed. “Do you look up to anyone, kid?” he asked, leaning back and crossing his legs.

“Um.” Peter’s face tinted red. “You.”

Tony just shook it off. “Besides me.”

The kid thought for a moment, his eyes––once again––glancing at every little thing that could possibly distract someone. The leg bouncing stopped. “I-I looked up to my Uncle Ben.”

Tony sat up.

“Before he died, I mean,” Peter continued. His hands folded in his lap. “H-he was really nice to everyone, tipped 25% and all that. He jus’ wanted to make everything okay. T’make sure everyone was safe.”

“Solid answer,” replied Tony. “Is that why you look up to him? Because you wanna be like him?”

Peter nodded.

And Tony nodded, too. “I’m sure he’d be proud of you.”

“Thank you,” said Peter, adding in a small hint of a smile.

Tony hummed. “What d’ya make of this place?” he asked. “Nice office?”

“Y-yeah. It’s great.”

“Great view of the city,” he continued. “Oh, and lemme introduce you to JARVIS–– Hey, J?”

_“Hello, sir.”_

Peter jolted, and his hands gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white. “W-wh––” He glanced up and back around the room for the source of the voice. “Where’d that come from? Who was that?”

“JARVIS, meet Peter Parker,” said Tony. “Peter Parker, meet JARVIS, my AI.”

Peter grinned. “Y-you have an AI? Me t–– that’s so  _cool_.”

_“Hello, Mister Parker.”_

Tony was smiling, too. The kid still held his nerves fairly high, but there was a newfound excitement that boosted Tony’s own. “Sorry ‘bout the internship work,” he told the kid. “Unless you love having your clothes soaked in printer ink, then by all means... Um, anyway, I got a proposition for you.”

Peter adjusted his posture in the chair.

“I mean, y’don’t wanna be an intern forever.” Tony kicked his feet up on his desk. “So, this  _proposition_. How would you feel about, maybe, not being an intern?”

Peter quirked a brow.

“Like, maybe, being an assistant?”

“Oh,” Peter mumbled, and it was clear that he was flooded with relief. “That’d be kinda cool. Would it be––?”

“Paid? For sure.”

Peter’s smile was gentle and comforting, and Tony decided the kid was a breath of fresh air, not only at Stark Industries, but in Tony’s life altogether. There was some sort of connection that he couldn’t deny. Maybe it was Peter’s willingness to go above and beyond over mundane tasks, and maybe it was the way he wore his intelligence, or the way he made Tony kind of want to adopt him for some reason. It was odd considering he never pictured himself as a father, though he had always known he wanted to be.

“So, who’s assistant would I be?”

Without a beat, Tony replied, “mine.”

And Peter, well, he was speechless. He gaped at Tony, his eyes wide and beady, and the innocence was suddenly so clear. “W-what?”

“Yeah, you’ll be mine,” said Tony. “If you want.”

Peter nodded, and nodded, and nodded. “Yes, yeah, yes, of course. Holy–– really?”

God, Tony’s grin physically  _hurt_. “Yep. Believe it or not, I’m not the greatest at running a company by myself. I could use a helping hand. I  _used_  to have...”  _No, Tony, don’t mention that._  He cleared his throat. “Well, think you’re special now?”

“Um.” Peter shrugged. “I just–– wow, thank you so much, Mister Stark. This is incredible. Really.”

“JARVIS, authorize Peter in the system and run me over some updated credentials.” Tony leaned over the glass desk, one hand pressed against the surface as the other reached out to shake Peter’s. The kid hesitantly complied. “It’s been a helluva pleasure, Mister Parker. Just come in at your usual time tomorrow, and we’ll keep in touch.”

“Y-yeah, course,” Peter muttered while he stood. “Thank you again, Mis’er Stark. Thank you so much.”

“You betcha, buck.”

Tony watched Peter leave, and when the door shut, the billionaire nearly cheered. He had no idea why he felt such intrigue, no idea why he wanted to take the teenager under his wing and protect him from the world. But the potential held up like a halo over Peter’s head, and all Tony wanted to do was make sure the aureole never faltered or faded. He needed to show Peter that he had the strength to hold that crown of light higher than ever.

-

“What did you  _do_?”

“Oh hey, Hap. Always good to hear your voice.”

“Did you hire a  _kid_  as your personal assistant?”

Tony had nearly fourteen hours until he was meant to be up in the air and on his way to Barcelona. Thanks to Mister Parker, he was able to find the best lounging accommodations for such an impromptu trip. But Tony wasn’t spending those fourteen hours wisely. Like usual, he sat in his workshop surrounded by advanced machinery and an atrocious amount of televisions broadcasting a wide range of news channels. This was how he spent his private time.

“No, of course not,” said Tony as he polished the metal plating on one of his gauntlets. “That’d be insane, Happy. I hired him as a normal assistant.”

“ _Personal_ assistant.”

“No, there’s a difference.” Tony reached up to interact with the blue illuminated voice call. making Happy’s soundwaves smaller in the corner so he could run diagnostics on the Iron Man suit below.

“Not really,” Happy replied.

Tony sighed. “He’s got better things to do, Hap, he’s sixteen. He’s not gonna be following me around wherever I go outside of the tower.  _Inside_ , however––“

“He’ll be your personal assistant.”

“Exactly.”

“Tony.” This time, Happy sighed. “This is ridiculous! How are you not expecting an adverse response? The press is already up your ass for the faulty battery in those few hundred of the latest Stark phone model, so now you’re––“

“Hey,” interrupted Tony, “we told ‘em it’s the manufacturer’s fault, not ours.”

“We oversee the manufacturers,  _Tony_ ,” Happy said. “It’s a quality issue of bad check. It’s our fault.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t there, so it wasn’t me.”

“The fact is,” continued the head of security, “you hired a  _sixteen-year-old_  to handle work you hardly care to handle yourself! He doesn’t need to be in charge of the entire 23rd floor, Tony. He doesn’t need to have access to all of our facilities upstate. And, he doesn’t need to handle all of the damn messes you create.”

“Okay, first of all, you’re wrong.” Tony wished he could see the look on Happy’s face. The annoyance was beyond evident–– it was amusing. “It’s the 24th floor––“

Happy groaned.

“And besides, I’m not letting him near any mess, okay? I’m handling the business; he’s handling the stuff that gets in the way of my business.”

“Like Spider-Man?”

Tony’s spine seized. “No,  _no_. No, Spider-Man would make that kid cry, all right? He’s not touching that shit.”

“Tony, you said the kid was smart,” said Happy. “I believe you. But having him cancel your plans and arrange flights on your private jet aren’t going to help him.”

“He’s gonna have hands-on experience, Hap.” Tony set down his polishing rag. “That’ll be handled personally. He’s only my assistant so it looks better than  _intern_  on his resume and college apps.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“I want the kid to succeed,” Tony continued. “And if I like him enough, maybe I’ll call up MIT–– use my pull and slide him a scholarship or something.”

“Would that be some form of nepotism?” asked Happy, and it was an honest question.

“Depends on how close I get to Mister Parker.”

“ _Tony_.”

“What?”

Happy sighed. Again. “Why’re you suddenly so interest in helping a sixteen-year-old? You rely on JARVIS to get you out of bed, and now you’re taking this–– this  _literal teenager_  under your wing for what, to watch him grow and succeed? Are you sure there’s no selfish purpose? None at all? There’s gotta be a  _what’s-in-it-for-me_  in here somewhere.”

“Okay, wow, ouch.” Tony winced, holding a hand up to his chest despite the lack of sight between the call. “That really stings. You make me sound so conceited.”

“You are so conceited, Tony.”

“He’s so smart, Hap,” said Tony. “I see something in him. And really, all I wanna do is help him find whatever it is he’s looking for.”

Happy was silent for a moment, and then he mumbled, “well, maybe this is a good thing.”

“You think?”

“Maybe he’ll change your mind about Iron Man.”

Tony frowned. “Happy.”

“Just sayin’.”

“I don’t see that––“ Tony cut himself off abruptly, eyes narrowing in on the news report on six of the eight channels he has on his televisions. A pier on the Brooklyn Bridge has crumbled, and Spider-Man arrived just in the nick of time to save everyone. Of course.

“Tony?”

Tony’s forehead wrinkled as he listened to a reporter praise Spider-Man, but the channel quickly cut to a new clip. A clip where Spider-Man plummets down a hundred feet into the East River below.

“I’ll—I’ll talk to you later, Hap,” whispered Tony. “I’ve gotta track down Spider-Man.”

-

Tony found Spider-Man unconscious on a concrete walkway beside the river. Not even the loud clank of the Iron Man suit landing could wake the soaked man. Night had fallen, and Tony was lucky for that. He didn’t want the world to see him and Spider-Man.

But for some reason, Tony did want to make sure Spider-Man was safe. The man acted idiotically; Tony knew immediately from the few interesting interactions the pair shared. And although the man had a big heart, sometimes, he didn’t know how to use his big brain.

“JARVIS,” Tony said in a low tone. “Place a tracker in the dude’s suit. I wanna know his vitals. I wanna know his whereabouts. I wanna make sure Underoos stays alive.”

“ _Interesting, sir_ ,” said the AI. “ _I thought you––“_

“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Tony replied. “Tell me the vitals, J.”

“ _Blood pressure readings are normal._ ”

“Okay.”

“ _Heart rate is 35 BPM._ ”

Tony blinked. “That’s, uh, real low, J.”

“ _It is normal for him. He is only asleep._ ”

“Well.” Tony took a step back. “Then, he’s fine. Just–– keep me updated, JARVIS. Keep the spider alive.”

“ _Very well, sir._ ”

Tony took a few more steps back, eyes trained on the sleeping hero as a smile toyed on the older man’s lips. “You’re a real piece of shit, Spider-Man,” Tony whispered. “But you’re a good man.”


	3. peter challenges the metal man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter has a good day,
> 
> and Spider-Man has a terrible night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a short one but that's only bc im eager to get back to tony's pov

Peter was Tony Stark’s assistant. Peter was Tony Stark’s  _assistant_.

No matter how many times the kid pinched himself throughout the past two weeks, the reality remained surreal. He hardly saw the man however; Peter was too busy making sure life was easy for the billionaire CEO. All meetings, travel plans, and sometimes phone calls (when he wasn’t feeling particularly nervous that day) went right through Peter. And Tony was too busy avoiding Stark Tower when he could.

He  _did_  live there after all.

Peter spent his afternoons talking to JARVIS in Tony’s office whenever there was a lonely moment. The two had managed to create quite a bond, something Peter wished he could have with Tony if he ever had the chance. But the poor teen still struggled to work beyond the nerves. JARVIS was harmless, but Tony Stark was his idol.

“ _Good morning, Mister Parker_ ,” spoke the AI as Peter stumbled in half-asleep while he rubbed his swollen eyes. “ _The grass pollen count is fairly high today._ ”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled with a sniff. “I can tell.”

_“Claritin D might help, sir.”_

“I’m hopped up on Zyrtec.” Peter threw his backpack onto the ground beside the make-shift desk Tony had set up for him. It was crazy–– Peter had his own  _desk_. With a name plaque and everything! Plus, a cool lamp that changed shades every time you tapped it.

Peter tugged a granola bar out from the front pocket of the Jansport.

“ _Mister Stark has personally asked me to tell you not to eat breakfast this morning, sir,_ ” said JARVIS. “ _He has also asked me to say that your choice of granola bar is disgusting and honestly ridiculous._ ”

“Course he did,” muttered Peter, shoving the breakfast bar back into the bag. “Why can’t I eat it? If he ordered––“

“ _Mister Stark would like to take you out for breakfast._ ”

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but no noise escaped right away. “H-he–– holy shit, really? Did he specify where? Because I’m feeling waffles or pancakes today but I’m very picky about what kinda syrup I like, and––“

The door opening tore Peter’s attention away from his minor rant. In strolled Tony dressed head to toe in a pristine white suit. Or, should Peter say, a  _stark_  white suit. Nevertheless, the bright ensemble hurt Peter’s eyes.

“Oh, hey, Pete,” said the man as his grin rose and fell dramatically. “Been here long?”

Peter shook his head. “U-uh, no, sir.”

“Did J fill you in on the plan?”

“ _I did, sir_.”

Tony smiled again and clapped his hands together. “Thanks, buddy. What d’ya say, Pete?”

“Sounds–– sounds good.” Peter swallowed. This was exactly what he wanted–– a chance to get closer to Tony, but boy was he nervous. “Where?”

“I think it’s called Le––Lay p-pain? Lay pain quote-die?”

“ _Le Pain Quotidien_.”

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

Peter nodded. He’d never heard of it.

“ _I thought you knew French, sir_.”

Tony raised his arms up in defense. “Okay, get off my ass, J.” He glanced over at Peter. “Ready, Mister Parker?”

Once again, Peter nodded, a wide grin plastered on his cheeks as he walked behind the person he looked up to the most.

-

“Mister Stark, did you see that dog? I think it winked at me.”

“It winked at you because I’m pretty sure you are the human incarnation  _of_  that dog.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult,” said Peter.

“What do you think it is, kid?”

“A compliment.”

Tony smiled. “Then it’s a compliment.”

-

Peter broke out in laughter.

“You are quite honestly,” started Tony, “the easiest laugh in the entire world. Y’know that?”

“C’mon, Mis’er Stark. You gotta admit it was funny.”

“Bird poop is not funny.”

“It is when the bird poops on your shoe,” Peter replied.

Tony rolled his eyes and hid his face, but Peter saw the smile anyway.

-

“Ew, yuck, Mister Stark. You can’t honestly think pineapple on pizza is good, right?”

“For your information,  _Mister Parker_ , it’s not  _just_  pineapple. It’s pineapple and ham. And yes, I do think it’s good. It’s fruity.”

Peter grimaced. “It’s disgusting. You disgust me.”

“Oh, I disgust you? Says the kid who drenched his  _eggs_ in maple syrup.”

“It’s sweet and savory.”

Tony threw up his arms. “ _So is pineapple on pizza!_ ”

-

“I didn’t wanna work for Oscorp. They scare me.”

“They  _scare_  you?”

“Yeah,” mumbled Peter as he rubbed the back of his hand with two fingers. “I went there on a field trip once. They had this big ass room full of spiders, and I wasn’t even supposed t’be  _in_  there, but I’m curious by nature so I––“

“Did you say a room full of spiders?”

“Yeah.”

Tony knotted his brows and pulled his lips into a tight frown.

Peter shuttered. “It was awful. I hate spiders.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“Pft.”

“Oscorp scares you because of their room of spiders?” asked Tony.

“Y-yeah.”

“It’s okay. Oscorp kinda scares me, too.”

“Really? Why do they scare you?” Peter glanced up at the older man.

Tony paused for a moment. “I think––well, I’m almost certain––that they were the reason my fiancée died.”

“Fiancée? I didn’t know you’d been engaged.”

“No one did,” replied Tony. “Not really. Stark Industries actually used t’do business with Oscorp, once upon a time. Until an explosion in their lab. Pep had–– she had only been visiting. They didn’t take responsibility.”

Peter frowned. “I’m so sorry, Mister Stark.”

But Tony shrugged, clapping a hand around the kid’s shoulder before directing him into Stark Tower. “No need Mister Parker. Now let’s get back to work.”

-

Peter felt good. Like, really good. Good about himself, good about life. Everything was just  _good_.

And then he had to go and put on the Spider-Man suit. Suddenly, the world wasn’t as beautiful as Peter Parker’s had been for eight to ten hours. All it took was the wrong move during an armed robbery, and Peter had to drag himself down a dark alleyway, hand clutching his side as blood seeped through the lighter red material.

He knew he was going to be okay; he usually was–– he just needed a few moments to recover. But specks of white filled his vision with every step, and he swore he could feel the air slipping through his fingers where the knife entered the muscle. He was going to be okay; he was going to be  _okay_. He just needed––

A loud  _thunk_  sounded from the entrance of the alley. Through the creeping dark, Peter could make out an instantly recognizable figure. “Well, that doesn’t look too pretty,” Iron Man said, a slight hint of mockery in his tone.

“I got––  _shit_.” Peter hissed. “I got healing powers. ‘s fine.”

Iron Man took a few lengthy steps forward before crouching beside Peter, who, in all honesty, was curled up into a ball beside a dumpster. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the metal man set his gauntlet against Peter’s back.

“Wh–– ow,  _ow!_ ” Peter yelped as he curled further in on himself. A new sharp pain spread where the wound met his lower back. “ _What was that?_ ” His voice was strong, but his limbs felt weak.

“An epidural shot,” Iron Man replied while standing back up. This gave Peter the chance to sit up to face Iron Man as best as he could.

“Y-you just–– why–– “ Peter sighed. “Why are you here?”

“Heard there was a robbery,” Iron Man said. His voice spoke more warmth than the visuals. All Peter could look up and see was the large metal robot with cold, glowing eyes. “Figured you’d come muck things up.”

“Oh, r-really?” Peter grabbed hold of his side once more, his grip tight so he could hoist his weight back onto his feet. “And where’ve you been all–– all of the other times I’ve stopped a bank robbery or a mugging? Where were you when I saved the four train from crashing when it transferred onto the wrong track? Where were you when–– ”

“ _Fine_ ,” said Iron Man.

“Fine, what?”

The man took a step toward Peter. “ _Fine_. Ya got me. I’m not here because of the damn robbery. I’m here because I put a stupid tracker in your suit. I’m here because you can’t keep yourself from almost dying for one  _fucking_ second.”

Peter backed up against the brick wall, a soft gasp escaping his lips before exclaiming in a pitchy voice, “you put a tracker in my suit?! What the hell, dude?  _Why?_ ”

“Because of stunts  _exactly_ like this.” Iron Man harshly pointed a finger at Peter. “You’re careless, Underoos. You fell off a bridge.”

“Yeah, but I was fine!”

“You could have  _died_.”

“I thought that was what you wanted,” said Peter.

“I––“

“I thought you wanted me dead.”

“I would never want you dead!” yelled Iron Man, and something eerie traveled up Peter’s spine. Something about the moment felt familiar, but he simply left it up to the odd phenomenon of déjà vu. The raise in voice shattered him. It  _hurt_  him. “I never have, never will. Y’wanna know why Iron Man even exists? Because people have taken things from me. People who are after my business, my  _life_. People who have no rapport, no compassion for killing the  _one_  person I loved. They took everything, and god forbid I have vengeance when they keep taking more. They wanted me to suffer. So, no, I don’t  _kill_. I just want them to suffer, too.”

Peter had never felt so small in his suit before. Not even when he fell from the 38th floor of Stark Tower. Not even on that beach near Coney Island. Not even when he cried himself to sleep after the times he couldn’t save everybody. Not even when his days were wracked with sensory overload-induced panic. Not even when his dreams were repetitive memories. Not even when his guilt caused more pain than gunshot wounds. Not even when he considered ending it all. Not even when he wanted nothing more than to give up. He didn’t know why, but he felt  _so damn small._

“I don’t want you dead, Underoos,” Iron Man whispered when Peter didn’t answer. “For some reason, the only thing I want right now is to keep you  _alive_.” 


	4. tony figures out spider-man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tony figures it out,
> 
> and Iron Man doesn't make an appearance today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's short again, but honestly, i love creating dialogue between tony and others

Tony hardly slept, but when he did, he had dreamless sleeps. The few hours of rest held more peace than he had ever felt in a lifetime. So, Tony didn’t hate sleeping. He just hated the lack of ideas.

He hypothesized when awake. Most of his best work was done on sleep-deprivation. He was lucky he could run on little sleep, and he was lucky enough to avoid nightmares when the time came to rest his eyes.

But Tony wasn’t lucky tonight.

He headed to bed early, and there was even a skip in his step as he made his way out of the bathroom. His exhaustion weighed down his eyes, and to Tony, that was new. He usually passed out before exhaustion ever hit him. Nevertheless, the sensation didn’t last long.

The next few hours were spent in a tossing-turning routine. His brain had soaked up too many plans, too many ideas to rest soundly when all it wanted was to work. And then Spider-Man crossed his mind.

 _Was he even a man? He acted and_ sounded _like a thirteen-year-old kid._

At around three in the morning, Tony shot up out of bed.

“JARVIS,” he said and blindly reached for the bedside lamp. “Are you up?”

“ _For you, sir? Always.”_

Tony rubbed his face. “I have a lot of thoughts that I’m thinking, and if I think aloud, then maybe I can think more clearly. There are a lot of thoughts that are being thunk.”

“ _All right, sir._ ”

With a sigh, he continued, “is there–– is there a way we can–– this is stupid–– J?”

“ _Yes?_ ”

“Does Spider-Man sound like Peter to you?”

“ _You haven’t configured voice recognition into my programming._ ”

Tony huffed. “Well,” he said, glancing over at the alarm clock that he hardly ever used, “we’ve got some time. Let’s have some fun.”

-

Tony had been pacing in his office when Peter arrived around nine in the morning. Peter, the anxious yet bashful kid who talked about puppies. Peter, who had been his assistant for about a month now. Peter, who would randomly laugh and email what he thought was funny right to Tony’s computer. Peter, who was  _possibly_  Spider-Man of all people.

It crossed his mind once or twice before, but it never truly occurred to Tony until the other night. He  _knew_ Peter. He knew how he spoke and carried himself. He knew what he sounded like when he was scared or excited. Tony  _knew_. And when Peter walked into work the morning after Spider-Man’s failed attempt to stop an armed robbery, Tony  _knew_  Peter hadn’t been involved in any “bicycle accident”. He just knew.

Tony also knew this made him sick to his stomach. His head throbbed at the thought of this kid putting himself in danger. It made him wish he had the authority to take away Spider-Man altogether, but he would never. He liked Spider-Man–– he had to admit it. Tony had a soft spot for both Spider-Man and Peter, whether they were the same person or not.

“Hey, Mis’er Stark,” said Peter. He sent his usual tight yet chipper smile and Tony did his best to reciprocate. Peter set down his bag and glanced at the stack of papers on his desk. “What’s this stuff?”

“Just expense reports and all that,” Tony muttered through the plastic pen between his teeth. “Could you run it down to Bambi on the floor below?”

“Um, sure.”

Once again, Peter gave Tony that familiar dashing smile before heading out of the office. Immediately, Tony sat up in his chair.

“Okay, J. Run that comparison.”

“ _Are you absolutely positive, sir? Mister Parker is only down the hall.”_

“JARVIS.”

“ _Right away, sir. Analyzing voice characteristics and running tenor comparisons now.”_

Tony tossed a rubber eraser up in the air for about a minute. The anticipation seemed to be eating away at his internal organs, but before he could empty out any contents of his breakfast, the analysis was complete.

“Give it to me JARVIS.”

“ _The tonal resonance of the two voices share remarkable similarities. Both amplitudes meet identical dimensions in their vibrations, and the rate of their frequencies is equal to an indistinguishable number of Hertz. The pitch of their tonality is exactly uniform._ ”

“Uh, English, buddy?”

“ _The voices are a 100% match, sir. Peter’s voice is exactly the same as Spider-Man’s.”_

Tony stared at the door, his heart pounding, but his mind was empty. The pen that had previously been stuck in his lips was now on the floor, and there he sat for minutes without a single thought running through his head.

“I think Happy just smiled at me,” said Peter on his way back into the room.

Now, Tony was staring at the kid, expression blank as the fears he only imagined became a reality. Every muscle, every limb solidified in his body, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He couldn’t stop thinking about Peter falling thirty-eight stories, or Peter dropping down into the East and still managing to make it out alive. Tony couldn’t stop thinking about the knife wound in Peter’s abdomen and how the next morning, it was like it hardly even happened.

Peter dug his granola bar out of his bag and began to eat.

And Tony felt like he would never be able to eat again.

-

Ideas kept him from sleeping, but Peter kept Tony from living. His ability to function dwindled the more he thought about the news, and soon he was left wishing he had figured it out sooner. He wished he had known before Iron Man existed–– because vengeance had been his solace, his  _therapy_  once before, and now his heart had more room. Something vacated for Peter.

Now Tony’s thoughts were congested, swarming with guilt and fear as he reminded himself of what the kid had been through. What  _he_  had put the kid through. This wasn’t what Howard felt when Tony crashed his first car. This wasn’t a nightmare his parents experienced when Tony didn’t come home for the winter. It was much more than underestimations or personality assessments–– it was the ache in his heart every time he imagined the worse.

But what was worse than the repeating images in his head? What was worse than picturing Peter falling and falling and––

Tony’s phone began to ring, and he allowed his heart to sink with the possible scenarios. Maybe it was Peter’s aunt calling to tell Tony her son hadn’t returned home that night, that he was missing or had been found dead in a park somewhere. Maybe it was Peter calling to use his last breaths, to tell Tony that he forgave him even though the kid knew nothing about Tony’s other identity. All of these maybe’s, and he hadn’t even looked at the caller ID.

It was Happy.

“Hey, Hap,” mumbled Tony after accepting the call. He had been holding his breath, and he painfully let the shaky air out. “You sittin’ down?”

“That’s never a good question.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Tony splayed himself on his couch and watched an airplane fade into the atmosphere from a distance.

“I was actually calling to––“

“Not important,” the billionaire interrupted. “I’ve got news for you. Actually, it’s more like a secret. Secret news. How good are you at acting?” Tony could picture his friend rolling his eyes.

“Making another suit isn’t news anymore, Tony.”

“Never said it was another suit.”

“I’m tired of secrets,” said Happy.

Tony smiled. “Y’work for me, Hap. You could always quit.”

There was a moment of silence, then Happy grumbled out a quiet, “what is it?”

Yet Tony hadn’t quite planned this far ahead. This wasn’t his identity to reveal, but he couldn’t keep it from Happy. Not when he already knew as much as he did. Tony sat up and rubbed his forehead. “It’s about Mister Parker.”

“The kid?”

“No, the dog,” said Tony. “ _Yes,_  the kid, Hap. Yikes, where’ve you been?”

“Making sure the public doesn’t talk about Iron Man,” Happy replied, “that’s where.”

“Point taken.”

“What’s the news?”

Tony looked back out at the city below, eyes slightly watery as he said, “he’s Spider-Man,” in a voice so soft he wasn’t sure he heard it.

“ _What?_ ”

“He’s Spider-Man,” Tony said again, this time louder. “The kid, Peter, he’s–– he’s fucking Spider-Man.”

Happy was quiet for a second. “And, you know this how?”

“ _Because_ ––“ Tony sighed and leaned forward on his knees. “The voices, Happy. I reprogrammed JARVIS’ facial recognition and added on some vocal software. And then I used the ‘fly-on-the-wall’ protocol to compare Peter and Spider-Man, and––  _Jesus_ , I hate this. I hate  _it_.”

“It’s not the end of the world.”

“So, tell me why it feels like it is!” yelled Tony, and an uncomfortable tension thickened in the room. “S-sorry, Hap. Did I–– did I lose ya? You still there?”

“Yeah, ‘m still here, boss.”

Tony wanted to break down. He wanted to chuck his phone, his armor,  _anything_ , out of the window and never see it again. All it took was one month and the kid managed to get Tony wrapped around his finger. The once notable playboy reputation had become forgotten, not to the rest of the world, but to Mister Stark himself. All he cared about right now was Peter.

“So, what are you gonna do?” asked Happy. “I mean, the kid’s gonna be crushed when he finds out you’re Iron Man.”

“I know, I  _know_.” Tony looked out towards the city again. “I can’t have that happen.”

“Kinda sounds like you’re on the fence about something.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But I don’t like it.”

“So?”

“ _So_.” Tony stood. “For now, we just gotta keep Iron Man away from Spider-Man. I don’t trust myself. Not now.”

“And what about Tony and Peter?”

Tony didn’t want to think about that part. Because, as he said, he didn’t trust himself. He didn’t trust himself not to jump in front of a moving bus for the kid. He didn’t trust himself not to lash out on poor teenage Peter as if he were his parent. All-in-all, Tony felt responsible, and he felt responsible for the kid too.

“Tell him I’ll be out of town for a bit,” said Tony as he twisted his left wrist. “And when I come back, it’ll be like nothing happened. I’ll forget he’s even the Spider-baby, and we can get on with our lives.”

“No offense, Tony,” started Happy, “but–– “

“Ah, ah. I’ll give you one chance to not complete that sentence.”

“–– but you seem to forget your chronic lack of self-control.”

Tony huffed. “Go sit in the corner and think about what you just said.”

“Nobody puts me in a corner.”

That made Tony smile. “I’m gonna have t’let you go now, Johnny Castle. I got places to be. People to see.”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me.”

“Buh, bye.”

“Tony––“

Tony tossed his phone toward the couch behind him and paced. The city seemed so peaceful from up above, so serene. And only so many stories down below, Peter’s desk sat in Tony’s office, a tacky nameplate and everything. Peter never asked for much, nor demanded things–– it was like Spider-Man was a split personality. That alone almost convinced Tony that Peter and Spider-Man were separate beings, but the voices didn’t fail. Peter was Spider-Man, and Tony had to make sure that Peter would never know about the one thing Tony couldn’t let go. He had to make sure Spider-Man never touched Iron Man again. 


	5. peter figures out the metal man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter figures it out,
> 
> and Spider-Man is nothing but a facade.

“F-A-N-C-Y.”

“Oh, nice, thirteen points.”

“It’s a double word score.”

“Fuck you, then.”

Peter let out a laugh and took a sip of his orange soda. It had been a little over a week and a half since he last saw Ned. With Tony in Ganesh, Peter’s hours were cut dramatically (he still had to pick up some slack that Mister Stark personally asked –– through Happy, but it was nothing the teenager couldn’t handle; it was summer after all). But now Peter had the time to play Lego: Star Wars and intense games of Scrabble with his best friend.

“I have absolutely  _nothing_  good,” said Ned as he stared down at his letters. Meanwhile, Peter was smirking. “Why does ‘x’ even exist? Like, ten words have the letter ‘x’ in them.”

“Maybe you should just try harder.”

“ _Hey_.”

Peter snickered again, eyes crinkling so hard his vision darkened for a moment. The laughter bubbled in his chest, or maybe it was gas due to the carbonation in the two cans of soda he’d consumed. Nevertheless, he felt truly happy.

“Uh, Peter?”

He hummed and glanced over to see Ned staring up at the ceiling, concern written in his expression. “What are you–– “ But Peter had a feeling, and when he looked up, it was only validated. One of the web shooters had illuminated a familiar logo.

“Why is it doing that?” asked Ned. His eyes squinted.

Peter just huffed. “What’s up, Karen? I’m not going out tonight.”

“ _I’m sorry, Peter._ ” The blue rim around the logo moved as the AI spoke.“ _There is another breach at Stark Tower.”_

Immediately, Peter stood. “Is it Iron Man again?”

“ _I’m not sure_ ,” she said. “ _You will have to get close for me to find out_.”

“Ned–– “

“Dude, you gotta go!” his friend announced with a smile. He stood to face the slightly panicked Peter. “You gotta go after him. It’s like you have an arch nemesis.”

Peter raised a brow. “Isn’t–– this isn’t  _Phineas and Ferb_ , Ned.”

“If it helps, you’d be Perry the Platypus.”

“Oh, well, in that case.” Peter fished his suit out from his backpack by the door.  _Note to self_ , he thought as he lifted the material up to his nose,  _do laundry._ “Ya sure this is okay with you?”

Ned pushed Peter away from the door and sent him stumbling towards the twin-sized bed. “Course. May and I had plans to get mani-pedi’s and then look at your baby pictures anyway.”

“ _Ned_.”

“ _Peter_.” Ned grinned. “You’re Perry and Iron Man is Doofenshmirtz.  _Go_.”

Peter lifted his bedroom window and looked back at his friend. “Why are we using this analogy? Should I get a hat?”

“ _Go!_ ”

Peter placed his mask over his head. “I’m Perry the Platypus,” he whispered before climbing out of the window and shutting the glass behind him.

-

It only took him an extra minute to change into the suit. And when Peter eventually made his way to Manhattan, he was pleasantly surprised to hear that Iron Man hadn’t yet left Stark Tower. In fact, according to Karen, he hadn’t moved. He might have placed a tracker in Peter’s suit, but Peter had been tracking the metal man from day one.

Although, Peter did still wonder why the man wanted to continuously break into Stark Industries. He also wondered why Iron Man hadn’t gotten caught the first time. These were all things that sometimes kept the kid up at night, along with other thoughts on the brain (like, what him and Tony were going to talk about the next day, and all that jazz).

Peter hadn’t seen Iron Man in a long time, and quite honestly, the excitement was buzzing.

“There is an open window on the same floor as Iron Man,” said Karen.

“And what floor is that?” Peter asked as he swung onto the next block. The large blue STARK letters had been in his vision for miles.

“38th.”

He stopped to glance up at the looming building. “Actually, that might’ve been my fault. I think I opened one to let a bug out. I named him Beetlejuice. I don’t think he was a beetle though.”

“You are very funny, Peter.”

“Aw,” Peter ducked his chin, “that’s sweet of you, Karen. Thanks.” After that, he shot a string of web towards the large glass windows above. His fingers met the surface with a small crack, and once his feet followed, he began to climb. And climb. And climb. “Jesus,” he mumbled, staring down at the street below. “Why can’t we just meet at a  _Subway_  and confront each other over turkey subs?”

A few moments later, Peter wedged in between the panels of the window before rolling into the dark abyss of the 38th floor. He had only been there a day prior, but it always felt different at night. It felt different when Peter had the protection of Spider-Man. Soft music played from down a large hall.

“Peter, there is a heat signature but it’s not Iron Man,” said Karen. “Stay sharp. Iron Man is still there.”

A bit of fear crept into Peter’s stomach as he stumbled through the dark, but he never let the small ounce of terror overcome him. He followed the music until he could see a light coming out from an office. Tony Stark’s office. The music was loud, and Peter was no longer as scared as he had been seconds ago.

“At least it’s AC/DC,” whispered Peter. “Dunno if I can fight well to Bon Jovi.”

Then something other than music filled the air.

“ _Sir, there appears to be a—_ “

“Can it, JARVIS,” said another voice. “I’m having me time. You’re harshin’ my mellow.”

“ _Sir—_ “

“Mellow harshed.”

Peter backed up a few steps and pressed himself against the wall. His chest heaved as he breathed out a quiet, “is that— is that Mister Stark? And JARVIS? What’s he doin’ here with Iron Man?”

_“I’m not sure, Peter.”_

Peter took another breath and stepped forward.

JARVIS spoke up again. “ _Sir, there is someone else here_.”

The music stopped abruptly, and the lights shut off soon after. Now, Peter wasn’t sure if he felt confusion or fear. Slowly, he reached his neck out to peak over the corner as best as he could through the dark.

Peter was met with glowing blue eyes.

“Shit!” he yelped, stumbling backward so hard he nearly fell into the fake plant behind him. But a metal arm caught him. “Why you gotta creep up on me like that?”

Iron Man took a step back himself, and there was a moment of silence that let the tension slip away. He stared down Peter, but the kid wasn’t fazed. Actually, Peter wasn’t thinking about Iron Man.

“What the  _hell_  is goin’ on?” he muttered. “Where’s Mister Stark? Are you his bodyguard or somethin’? Did you just feed me lies so you could convince me you’re not just a villain without reason?”

“I’m not a villain,” Iron Man spoke lowly.

“Then what— “ But Peter cut himself off. Every confusion, every sense of wonder and excitement, vanished. All of the riddles were falling into place. All of the confrontations and conversation––all of the deep connections––were suddenly so clear. No punch could hit Peter the way this reality would. It all made sense.

And he didn’t want it to.

“Where— “ Peter backed up again, arms falling into the plastic leaves while he tried to maintain a confident voice. He failed. “Where’s Mister Stark?” he asked again, but it wasn’t for curiosity’s sake. He wanted to invalidate the voice in his head. He wanted to be sure his immediate conclusion was one-hundred-percent false.

Iron Man stayed silent.

“Where is  _he_?” Peter asked once more, this time in a firmer tone. A few tears welled up in his eyes. “Y-you gotta tell me. Please. You— you can’t be— “

It was clear that Peter had begun to wail underneath the mask. His stomach ached as his inhales and exhales repeated like rapid fire, and he nearly toppled onto the ground below with the amount of vertigo he was feeling.

Then Iron Man reached a metal hand out, and Peter wasn’t sure why. He just assumed it was to blast him, so the kid somersaulted to Iron Man’s left side.

“Where is he?” Peter repeated, but this time it came out as more of a desperate scream. He kicked at the metal man’s ankles and punched at the chest plate. It was like a child having a tantrum, yet Peter didn’t care. “Where—“ Breath. “Is—“ Breath. “He?” And then a strained cry.

Maybe he was overreacting, but he didn’t think so at the time. He just wished he was wrong.

Iron Man’s arms wrapped around Peter’s waist to keep him still. It was all the kid needed to give up, and his own arms soon fell limp into the metal grip. His head lay right beside the blue glow of the circular chest piece. Now that he thought about it, it looked like a mini arc reactor. A Stark design.

And then a small metal noise sounded from above, like a piece of the titanium fitting into place. So Peter looked up, but he wished he hadn’t.

“No,” he whimpered, falling back against the wall. “No, no, no, no, no, no—“

“Kid.”

Peter glanced up at the illuminated face. “No!” he yelled and looked down again.. “This— this is a dream. This isn’t true. You’re not him. You’re not him. You can’t be.”

“Hey, hey. Look at me, Spider-Man. It’s okay.”

“ _No!_ ”

Two hands reached out to hold Peter’s arms, and he let them. He let them steady his shaking so he could finally give Iron Man the satisfaction. To give  _Tony_  the satisfaction. Peter’s breathing began to slow, but his mask was damp with his tears.

“Kid, I’m so sorry,” said Tony, his eyes watery and wide as if he was witnessing someone die. “I didn’t want you to find out this way. I didn’t want it at all.”

Peter forgot he was Spider-Man. He forgot about the tight red suit, the web-shooters, and the powers. He forgot about the mask concealing his identity. He felt like Peter, the dorky teenager from Queens who became a superhero by chance. He felt like the kid who idolized a man with a heart of gold, or so he thought. There was no Spider-Man or Iron Man despite the suits and masks. It felt like Tony and Peter.

“You were supposed to be the good guy,” Peter had whispered, but he wasn’t sure what strength possessed him to say it. A new found anger coursed through his veins, and when gazing up at Tony in the same metal suit that sent Peter flying thirty-eight stories down, he decided he would no longer cry.

And Tony did not reciprocate this anger. He looked defeated. Like this was his worst nightmare.

“I-I trusted you,” Peter continued. “I looked up to you. I  _idolized_  you.”

Something in Tony’s face twitched, and he blinked a few times before stepping away. Peter watched the muscles in the man’s jaw clench. Maybe this had defeated Tony, but Peter was still Spider-Man. As far as he knew, Tony had no idea who was beneath the mask.

But that didn’t matter to poor Peter.

“You–– you’re a murderer.”

Tony shook his head. “N-no. I’m not, Pete––“

“You’ve killed, and–– “ Peter gulped, swallowing down the words that were desperate to escape. Words that he wanted to say, but he couldn’t because Tony Stark had just spoken his name. Peter believed his world was crashing down around him. “You–– you know?” His voice had fallen hushed. He sounded pathetic and hurt.

Tony pulled his lips into a frown. “Kid,” he whispered breathily. “I’m  _sorry_.”

Peter decided he no longer wanted to be there. He no longer wanted to look at the man oozing betrayal and desperation. He no longer wanted to share the same air as someone he thought believed in him.

“I quit,” he said, and without another word, Peter opened the nearest window and slipped out into the night.


	6. tony loses spider-man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and Peter loses Iron Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof this is it i'm sorry

There were a few stars in the night sky that belonged to Tony. He bought them as reminders, as inklings of hope that gave him the chance to look up and remember what had been good. So, on nights he fought for air, all he had to do was tilt his head, and his once numb fingers would shakily spring back to life. And the airplane would lull him to sleep.

He was never in New York anymore. He never visited the pristine white halls of the 38th floor. He never snuck into facilities to menacingly torture anyone who threatened his business. He never paraded around with Spider-Man hanging off his tail. He never spoke to Peter Parker.

And Peter Parker didn’t want to speak to him.

The season of fall hardly touched southern California. The warmth was meant to be an anti-depressant, but the visions of the kid’s disappointment and the pictures of lost loved ones were still reminders of what he had done. Everything Tony touched was bound to fall apart. He turned over the company to a new CEO and packed his things for the state of palm trees and Disneyland.

Yet even his new home haunted him, so he took to the skies. He lived in suitcases, and his armor remained locked away and out of reach.

In early November, Tony was home again, falling asleep on stairs and the stools in his workshop. He shared his thoughts with JARVIS and documented each and every one of them. He kept video diaries of his late-night tinkering sessions, but he never watched them back. If he did, he would burden himself with the seeping desperation and the admittance of wrongdoings. Tony didn’t want to view his own weakness–– he already had to live in it.

So, he wallowed.

Iron Man had never been one of Tony’s best ideas, but it had been one of his best accomplishments. It never occurred to him that it would hinder relationships, that it would put others at risk. He never imagined a sixteen-year-old kid––seventeen by now––would make him question everything he’d ever done. Tony, in all honesty, had never wanted to be a father so badly before. He found himself caring for the kid much more than he originally bargained for. And Peter had been Spider-Man all along, so Tony had fucked it up from the start.

His ache for creation met unlimited motivation, and for him, any task could prove dangerous. But the need to tinker was too pressing. So, Tony made a suit. And another. And then another.

And they were all for Spider-Man.

“You’ve reached the voice mailbox of  _Happy Hogan_.”

Tony sighed as the beep rang. “Hey, Hap. Jus’ checkin’ in. It’s only like, eleven o’clock over there, so I figured you’d be awake, but–– anyway. I’m bored out of my frickin’ mind, so if ya pay me a visit tomorrow, I wouldn’t be opposed per  _se_. God, I’m just–– “ Tony rubbed at his forehead. “Ready for something new. Something happy. Ha. Dunno. Anywho, call me back when you get this. I’ll probably pick up on the first ring. Buh bye.”

Tony sighed again. The move had been impulsive and stupid. It only took minutes to take off without telling a soul, but the repercussions of leaving hurt him more than if he had stayed in the city. He felt alone.

“How’s Spidey Mark Five doin’, J?” Tony asked up toward the ceiling while he made his way into the kitchen.

“ _It’s making excellent progress, sir,_ ” replied the AI. “ _Configurations are at fifty-seven percent. Diagnostics should be running at any moment._ ”

Tony nodded. “Good,” he said. “Wrap it up and tie a lil bow around it once it’s done. What’s our Underoos doin’ right now?”

“ _Ever since Mister Parker removed his tracker, it has been difficult to locate him_.  _I will start by looking through news reports and media sightings.”_

“Do what you gotta do.” Tony poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee from the pot he made hours prior. “Thanks, J. Always a trooper.”

“ _Sure thing, sir._ ”

He sipped on his coffee absentmindedly, heart a bit heavy as he thought about what danger the kid could be putting himself through at that very moment. The lack of knowledge on Peter’s whereabouts threw Tony’s anxiety for a loop.

“ _No sightings, news reports, or mentions, sir. Mister Parker could very well be safe and at home.”_

Tony gulped down the rest of his coffee and set the mug in the sink. “And that’s what we’re hopin’ for,” he said and started down in the direction of the workshop.

He hardly had the chance to set himself on a stool before an unfamiliar beeping sounded throughout the house.

“ _There is a new message in your server, sir,”_ JARVIS spoke. “ _It is from an unknown sender._   _I believe the Iron Man server may have been hacked._ ”

“Gimme the visual.”

“ _Sir, I’m not sure––_ “

“It could be Peter,” said Tony. “Give me the visual, JARVIS.”

The holographic screens illuminated, and the unread video message was pulled up before him. Immediately, Tony knew it wasn’t good.

It wasn’t good because the paused frame showed Spider-Man tied up in a chair with his head hung low. His mask was off, and his face had been beaten. The room around him was dark. Tony reached for something to grab ahold of.

And when he pressed play, he regretted it right away.

“Say hi to the camera, kid,” said a voice from off-screen.

Peter glanced toward the camera, and a pit began to form in Tony’s stomach. The kid appeared frail, bruised and exhausted. Something told Tony that Peter had been there for a lot longer than just a few minutes.

“We’ve got your kid, Iron Man,” the same voice continued. The man remained out of view. “Shit, we didn’t even know he was a kid. That kinda fuckin’ sucks, but who gives a shit?”

Peter clenched his jaw in the video, and so did Tony.

“Woulda been so much easier for us if ya hadn’t disappeared, man,” the man said. “Then we wouldn’t’ve had t’get Spidey involved. Poor little Spider-Man.” He tutted. “He’s tough. Won’t crack–– won’t tell us who ya are. It’s a shame, too. Got 50,000 volts to the side jus’ a minute ago. Jesus, that had t’hurt.”

Tony’s hands balled into fists.

“Hey guys,” the man mumbled. “C’mere. Let’s put on a lil show, eh?” At least three men, including the source of the voice, entered the screen. The masked men surrounded Peter. “Ya see, Iron Man,” spoke the man, “either the kid confesses or–– “

Another man struck Peter with a taser to the ribs, and Tony’s head faced away as the kid’s screams filled the concrete walls of the workshop. Bile formed in the billionaire’s throat.

“Yikes,” said the first man. “’s gotta hurt. Great talkin’ to ya Iron Man. Hopefully we’ll see you ‘round here soon.”

But before the video could end, Peter cried out again. Tony closed his eyes, for he was unable to look at the damage. Unable to look at the torture this kid––his kid––was enduring for him. For the next few moments, he sat quietly to control his heavy breaths. He couldn’t unsee it.

“JARVIS,” Tony breathed out.

“ _Yes, sir?_ ”

“Trace the video. Create a flight plan for wherever the hell it came from.”

“ _Right away, sir.”_

-

Tony hadn’t stepped into the Iron Man suit in many long months. He couldn’t waste another moment, but his fingers ached to familiarize themselves with every edge and divot of the plating. He wished he hadn’t abandoned the project altogether. Maybe he had missed the chance to use the suit for good purposes. Now it reminded him of the burden and the lives it affected.

But he pushed his thoughts aside and let the metal plating fit into place around his figure. It was cold and hard, and it felt like home.

“ _Setting a course to Elmont, New York.”_

Tony couldn’t hear his mind over the loud gusts of air around the suit. He wanted to strategize, to plan, but the fear enveloping him kept him from any logical thought. All his brain allowed him was the hundreds of possible scenarios, and all of them resulted in the echoing of Spider-Man’s cries. All of them ended with the fall of Peter Parker, the seventeen-year-old kid who upheld guts over glory. The kid who took on guns and knives one night and a pop-quiz the next morning. The kid who saw the world in technicolor and fought against the sepia.

Tony placed the suit on auto-pilot; his lungs had tightened too far beyond discomfort.

The air was much cooler as he made his way over the New York state line. Too much time had slipped away, but Tony wasn’t exactly keeping track. Soon enough, he met the ground of a nearby forest, broken branches and dried leaves crunching beneath the metal boots. Snow had begun to fall around Tony as he made his way through the small patch of trees, and whatever building Peter was kept in could be seen in the distance.

“How many in there, J?” Tony mumbled while he maneuvered around trunks quietly. He didn’t want his presence to be known.

“ _Six, sir. Not including Mister Parker._ ”

“He’s–– he’s still there, right?” Tony blinked and stumbled back; the anxiety rushing through him was too debilitating to carry on.

“ _Yes, but he has slipped unconscious. His vitals are steady._ ”

Tony let out a quick, tremulous breath, but he kept walking through the numbness and heightened senses. The ground moved like jelly below his feet, and the stars in the sky spun like cyclones of hot gas.

“ _There is a prime access spot toward the southeast corner_ ,” said JARVIS. “ _All figures are on the opposite end of the building. The warehouse is abandoned, sir, and sound will reverberate._ ”

“Got it. Anything else I should know?

“ _Mister Parker has four broken ribs, a broken nose, and a concussion.”_

“Jesus,” Tony muttered. “This kid’ll be the death of me one day.”

When Tony found his way into the warehouse, he followed the voices. Empty shelves and dusty wooden planks were all that separated him from Peter at the other end of the large building. Tony was lucky the men were loud–– they spoke low and guttural, and the occasional booming laugh would strike the nerves in his spine. There was no way Peter would be unconscious for much longer with the men’s volume.

A dim light caught his vision as he neared, and he tried his best to keep his steps silent while the men discussed their thoughts on the World Series win from a little over a week ago. Apparently, these men had nothing better to do than kidnap a crime-fighting kid and shit-talk Alex Cora.

Tony took one step forward, but a change in topic restricted him to hiding behind large metal shelving. He could barely catch a glimpse of one of the men. All he wanted was to see Peter, and unfortunately, there were no good opportunities to change location without revealing himself.

“Yeah, he’s comin’ back,” said a man. “Wakey, wakey, baby. You catch the Sox game?”

There wasn’t a response.

_No, he didn’t watch the World Series,_ thought Tony.  _He’s a Mets fan anyway._

“So, you gonna confess now, Spider-kid?” asked the same voice. “We gave you nap time, but we ain’t gettin’ you a juice box.”

Peter was quiet again, and Tony wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. It was bad because it meant the kid had lost a lot of psychical strength. And it was good because it meant he still held onto a bit of mental strength as well. That, or he was still unconscious.

“I don’t think your buddy Iron Man––“

Tony straightened his posture and peaked his head out a bit more. All of the men’s backs were turned away from him, and he could barely see the red knee of Peter’s suit.

“––is comin’ to save you, kid,” the same guy spoke (Tony wanted to kill him first). “He’ll never know what you went through to keep him safe. Tell me, has it all been worth it?”

Peter whined, and his metal chair shifted against the concrete floor. Tony couldn’t see,  _Tony couldn’t see_ , and for all he knew, the man could have been slicing through the poor kid’s cheek with a knife.

The man entered Tony’s line of sight again and let out a long sigh. After a few moments, he whipped back around to face Peter. “Okay, you’re pissin’ me off now. Who the fuck is Iron Man?” The sound of a gun cocking followed the man’s question, and Tony was quick to surrender his hiding spot. His mask lifted as he held up his arms.

He was right. The man had lifted a gun towards Peter.  _Peter_ , who looked so damn pathetic in that lonely chair. Peter, whose cheek had been cut, whose nose had been bloodied and broken, and whose torso was exposed through the tatters of his suit. Peter, who stared up at Tony with his big, innocent brown eyes–– who seemed so small and so relieved to see someone he vowed to never speak to again.

“You gonna leave that kid alone?” Tony asked, and his repulsor charged.

But the gun was still pointed at Peter.

“Holy shit,” breathed the first man. “Tony fucking Stark. That’s amazing. I shoulda guessed. Iron Man vanished with you.”

Peter looked horrified. Tony had never seen the kid so visibly shaken before, not even when the printer sputtered ink all over his sweater. Not even when Tony asked him to be his assistant. Not even when Peter nearly vomited granola bits all over his desk because Tony suggested they go see a movie later.

“Damn,” the man said. “And you had just started to rebuild your reputation, too.”

The gunman turned toward to Tony a split second later, but he wasn’t fast enough. Tony’s mask slammed shut as he stepped to the side, and his hands were quick to aim and fire at the men around him. They were all too agile for it to be easy.

_Don’t hit the kid, don’t hit the kid, don’t hit the—_

A few of the men had already fallen, unable to get up, but the bullets were whizzing, and all Peter could do was duck to avoid them.

“Mister Stark!” the kid cried, his voice strangled and weaker than Tony had imagined.

He let Peter’s voice motivate him. The kid was scared, terrified for his life, and all Tony could do was his best. All he could do was block out his fears.

“You’re annoying me,” said Tony as he hit the next man in the chest. He didn’t care about the damage being done or the visuals this gave to Peter–– he just wanted to save the kid’s life.

Tony thought he had taken them all down. They were silent, lifeless on the cold floor, so he bent down to slip Peter free of the twist ties around his wrists.

“They–– they took my web shooters,” mumbled Peter with his head twisted around to see Tony.

“Spread your wrists, kid,” he said. “Keep em far apart.”

Peter did as he was told, and Tony was able to charge his repulsors just enough to break the plastic from around the wrists. Next it was the feet, and that was easy.

“They took my mask,” Peter continued. “They–– they–– “

“It’s okay, Pete.” Tony’s faceplate lifted once more, and he blinked a few tears as he stared up at Peter.

Tony couldn’t breathe.

“Can you–– can you stand?” he asked, reaching out for Peter’s trembling hands. Tony put all of his strength into lifting the kid, but it wasn’t necessary. Peter could bench a ton, and he weighed as much as a pencil. He nestled into Tony’s neck and sucked in a sharp breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter whispered so faintly, Tony swore he imagined it.

He kept his grip on the kid firm, and he promised himself he wouldn’t let go first. It was a hard, rigid embrace that somehow held more warmth than Tony had felt close to two years. This was why the world was better with Spider-Man–– this was why Tony’s life was better with Peter in it.

“I’m hungry, Mister Stark,” mumbled Peter. He tugged his arms away slowly and attempted to balance himself.

So, Tony pulled away and gave Peter a pat on the shoulder. “Well, let’s get you some food, then. What d’you want?”

The pair turned to walk as Peter weakly replied, “cheeseburger.”

Tony tried his best to suppress a chuckle, and then he heard the yelp. And when Tony looked over his shoulder, his heart fell again.

Peter had been pulled down by the ankle, and the man previously on the floor scrambled up and pointed his gun at the teenager. All Tony could see were the tears trickling down the kid’s face. They mixed with the blood and dirt caking his skin, and Tony wished he could reach over and wipe it all away. He wished he could wipe away all of the bad.

Peter Parker had an enormous heart. He gave all that he could, and he got nothing but pain in return.

The man’s glare burned right through Tony as he fought for the right words to say. “Outta the suit,” said the man, “or the–– or the kid dies.” The gun lifted a little higher.

Tony held his hands up, eyes wide as the suit opened to reveal the man in a t-shirt and jeans. The man who had only been minutes away from tinkering on another Spider-Man suit. A suit he wished Peter had at this very moment.

Something in the other man’s eyes clicked, like a spark igniting a fire, and Tony could read his next move from the impish smirk to the way his eyebrows knotted.

So, Tony dove.

Just as the shot rang out.

He felt numb for a moment, lungs twisting and heart throbbing as he waited for the expected. But the kid didn’t fall, and Tony’s chest sizzled in hot flashes of pain. He stumbled and met the gaze of the man before raising his wrist. All it took was a few taps, and Tony’s watch became a gauntlet. The man fell before Tony couldn’t register what he had done.

“Mis’er Stark,” Peter whispered, and Tony’s knees buckled beneath him.

He couldn’t feel much, in fact, it wasn’t the worst pain he  _had_  felt. Yet somehow, breathing hurt, and standing hurt. Everything hurt. The blood had begun to seep through the gray tee.

“Mister Stark,” Peter said again, this time stronger as he kneeled beside the older man. The tears flowed once more, and Peter’s frown caused more harm than any gunshot wound.

Tony placed his hand on the kid’s cheek. “D-did they–- did they poison you? How’d they get you here?”

Peter shook his head. “No, they-– they mentioned you. They knocked me out. That was it.”

Tony swallowed.

“They knew they could get me to crack.”

“But you didn’t–– you didn’t, Pete,” mumbled Tony. Colors faded the more he spoke, and the more they faded, the faster the darkness seeped through.

“Tony,” Peter said, face breaking as a sob wracked his body. “’m sorry.”

Tony shook his head. His chest felt empty, but his heart held the weight.

“I-I didn’t mean any––anything I said,” the kid continued through a hiccup. “Promise. Y-you’re not a villain. You’re a hero. You’re the good guy.”

It was like slipping into a heavy dream. Like soaring in the gust of the north wind. Like stepping out of the body he once knew. It didn’t hurt–– he never thought it would.

And then, he saw the stars. All of them. There were a few stars in the night sky that belonged to Tony. He only wished he had named one after Peter. 

 


End file.
